


Speaking the Language in Which No and Yes Mean the Same

by Cinaed



Category: Life
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Episode Related, F/M, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I speak it, nonetheless, while eating apricots in the evening of eternal damnation. (There's now a "no stuffing people in your trunk" clause in their friendship.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaking the Language in Which No and Yes Mean the Same

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go out to amazonqueenkate for beta-reading this for me. The title and part of the summary comes from "The Idiot's Guide to Faking Your Own Death and Moving to Mexico" by Jason Bredle.
> 
> Spoilers for the episode "Everything...All the Time."

When Charlie comes into the dining room, Ted is sitting at the table. His head is bowed, and for a second it looks like Ted might be praying, which would be odd, seeing as Charlie’s pretty sure that Ted’s an atheist. 

Then he recognizes the defeated slump to Ted’s shoulders. It’s the one Ted wore when Charlie found him again after their release, the posture that had warned Charlie that Ted was about five seconds away from swallowing a handful or two of pills. 

Charlie adjusts his weight, makes his footfalls light enough to be ignored if Ted wants, but not loud enough to startle him. He goes to the refrigerator, grabs a beer, and listens to the sound of Ted’s even breathing. He’ll give Ted his space, be patient. If Ted wants to talk, he will. If not, well, everyone has secrets. 

He takes a low swallow of the beer and frowns a little when the beer chases away the last trace of Jennifer’s lipstick on his mouth. He already misses the taste, just like his hands still ache with the sense-memory of touching her warm, soft skin. He really needs to get a new car. 

“Bad day?” he asks after a moment, when Ted doesn’t even twitch at the sound of the refrigerator door opening. Okay, so sometimes Charlie’s not very good with the whole patience thing. It’s something he’s working on. 

“Bad day?” Ted repeats, toneless. Then he huffs out a breath that could be a laugh or a sigh and runs a hand over his face. When he speaks again, there’s a hint of emotion in his voice--exasperation, which is familiar and far less concerning than Ted’s slumped shoulders. “You could call it that, yes.” He still doesn’t look at Charlie, though. 

“What else would you call it?” 

Now Ted does look at him, and his expression is a roughshod mixture of exasperation and something else, something dark and a little bit angry. “Give me a second here, Charlie. I’m trying to figure out a way to phrase this so you don’t do anything irrevocably stupid.” 

Charlie sits down across from Ted and grins at him, the smile bright and innocent even as his mind focuses on this moment, this conversation; his entire body thrums with interest. “Me, do something stupid? I really don’t know what you’re trying to imply here, Ted. I am a very smart person. My mother told me so every night before she tucked me into bed, and we both know mothers never lie.” 

Ted shakes his head. “I mean it, Charlie. If I tell you, you have to promise me not to do anything stupid, like, oh, _lock someone in a trunk_.” 

“That was just the one time,” Charlie protests. In hindsight, perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea to tell Ted about Hollis being locked in the trunk while he and Ted had been at that diner. Ted’s lack of humor about the situation seems to be pretty permanent and unyielding. 

“Charlie--” Ted shifts restlessly on his chair, his gaze lowering, and for the first time, Charlie notices the folder on the table. It’s shut, but Charlie’s spent too many hours studying that particular folder not to recognize it. 

“What happened?” Charlie doesn’t recognize his voice for a second, the rasp in the words that he knows is a snarl threatening to escape his throat. “What did he--” 

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you, even though I knew I had to,” Ted says, but most of the slump is gone already from his shoulders, as though the majority of his burden has simply been keeping a secret from Charlie. “Sit down. Please.” 

Charlie blinks, and then realizes he’s standing, palms flat on the table, shoulders aching with tension. He sits, slowly, but his thoughts are dark. He thinks of Jennifer and the ring on her finger that should be his but isn’t, of Ted’s tentative smile when Charlie invited him to move in. 

He is really, really sick and tired of people having or harming what’s his. 

“What did he do?” he repeats, voice calm now, even as his stomach tightens in anticipation and he begins to ponder what he can do to Jack Reese that won’t send him immediately to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200 (instead, collect $50 million). 

“He--” Ted lifts his hand, as though to rub at his face again, and then lets it drop to his lap. When he speaks, the tone is wry. “Being such a fine, upstanding citizen, he seemed concerned that I might violate my parole.” 

A half-laugh escapes Charlie’s lips then, low and almost incredulous, because Ted’s pretty much the poster boy for, well, whatever the opposite of recidivism is. (Apparently he also needs a dictionary.) “Right, a fine, upstanding citizen,” he agrees, his tone just as dry as Ted’s, and then he leans back in his chair, calmer now as he begins mentally sorting through scenarios to deal with Jack Reese. “I’ll take care of it.”

Ted eyes him, looking dubious. “Without involving car trunks?” 

Charlie sighs. Yeah, he really shouldn’t have told Ted about Hollis. “I promise not to stuff anyone into my car trunk, Ted.” At Ted’s expression, he adds, “_Anyone_’s car trunk.” Trust Ted to spot the loophole. 

There’s a moment of almost peaceful silence until Charlie clears his throat and adds conversationally, “You know, a Zen Master once said, ‘If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.’” 

Ted stares at him, and there are so many emotions on his face that Charlie can’t decipher a single one. “I…have no idea what to say to that, except to wonder if I honestly have to attach a ‘do not kill Jack Reese’ clause to the ‘no stuffing people in trunks’ clause now. Do I really need to attach a ‘do not kill Jack Reese’ clause, Charlie?” 

Charlie smiles serenely and takes a tip of his beer as half-alarm, half-suspicion that this is Charlie’s idea of a joke fills Ted’s face. 

“Charlie, if you meet the Buddha on the road, shake his hand and keep walking.” Ted stops, and then frowns harder. “Not that I want you to shake Jack Reese’s hand. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. Just, are you seriously telling me--”

Charlie interrupts him. “‘If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.’ I never really understood that quotation. Why would anyone want to kill the Buddha? He seemed like a pretty nice guy.” He tilts his head in contemplation. “But maybe it’s not supposed to be literal. Koans often aren’t, you know.” He pauses again, and brightens. “Hey, do you think the internet would have the answer?” 

“The internet often does,” Ted says dryly, but there’s more relief than alarm on his face now, and he’s apparently concluded that Charlie is just teasing him. Which, to be fair, is exactly what Charlie’s doing. The slump is ninety-five percent gone from Ted’s shoulders, and while that’s not perfect, it’s better than nothing. Maybe the slump will vanish once Charlie has that conversation with Jack Reese. 

Charlie stands and tries to remember where Ted usually keeps the laptop. He pauses at Ted’s quiet, “Charlie?” 

Charlie looks at him, sees the shadows in his friend’s eyes, the tension at the corners of his mouth. He knows what Ted is about to ask. _I won’t go back to prison, Charlie?_ He also knows what Ted means. _I can’t go back to prison._ He smiles at him, the same bright, sunny smile as before. “Yes, Ted?” 

Ted opens his mouth, and then pauses, blinking, and apparently changes his mind about what he was going to say, the last of the slump gone from his shoulders. “Do you know you have lipstick on your collar?” 

Charlie blinks and looks down. Sure enough, there’s a smear on his collar the exact shade of Jennifer’s lipstick. “Huh. Would you look at that.” 

Ted looks tolerantly amused, an expression that graces his face whenever he has to shoo the latest girl out of the door, the one that makes Charlie feel a little stupid sometimes, like Ted thinks he’s just showing off or trying to prove something. 

Perhaps that’s what makes Charlie finger his collar and muse, “I wonder if I should make Jen pay for the laundry bill.” 

The sound of Ted’s choked sputtering follows him into the living room, and he grins.


End file.
